


Knit It Together With Love and Sparrows

by anoneknewmoose



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Double Penetration, M/M, Podfic Welcome, Romance, Spitroasting, Threesome - M/M/M, Touring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-28
Updated: 2011-06-28
Packaged: 2017-10-20 19:21:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoneknewmoose/pseuds/anoneknewmoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So. If we all want in each other's pants, what are we going to do about that?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knit It Together With Love and Sparrows

**Author's Note:**

> Muy muchas gracias to everyone who listened to my wibbling in IM or made cheerleading noises when I sent them snippets. In particular, my gratitude to cool_rain_kiss for getting it rolling; misswonderheart for reassuring me the first 300 words didn't suck; fictionalaspect's absolutely brilliant beta and hand-holding; boweryd for fixing the porn and late-night consultations; and mwestbelle for the final look-over and canon-check. This is all for cool_rain_kiss. ♥

Frank wakes up in the middle of the night with the bus still rolling down the highway underneath him. He's not sure why he's awake, exactly, but sleep seems a million miles from him now. He stares at the bottom of Otter's bunk for a moment, debating if he wants to get up and get coffee or not. After he's woken up a bit he can hear the tinny strumming of an unplugged guitar coming from the back lounge-cum-studio and he rolls his eyes, slipping out of his bunk.

There's still coffee in the pot - miracle of miracles - but it's cold, so he sticks the entire thing in the microwave to reheat while he rinses out the least fuzzy of the mugs in the sink. It's a half-assed effort but there's nothing visible in them before he pours the lukewarm coffee in, so it could be worse.

He leans against the door and watches Ray pick something out that he doesn't recognize, waits for Ray to pause and frown down at the strings. "Gerard finally crashed out," he says into the quiet.

Ray jerks and looks up a little wildly, jarred out of his train of thought. He smiles weakly when he realizes who's at the door and sets his guitar down, reaching out and making grabby hands. Frank hands him a mug and goes gladly with Ray's warm hand pulling him down by the waist, laughing at Ray's grumbling about Frank's weird-ass vegan creamer shit. "It's good for the soul, Toro. And it won't keep you up like sugar will."

"Staying up now means more sleep on the plane tomorrow, though," Ray mutters between sips. Frank grimaces in agreement. None of them are looking forward to the flight home. Gerard hasn't had a drink or a pill in six hours, but God only knows if that'll last, or if he can make it through an eighteen hour flight without a Xanax. Ray adds, "Not like listening to Otter bitch is what I'm in the mood for, either."

Frank grunts and sips his coffee, leaning back against the wall and poking Ray in the thigh with his foot. "Play me something, man."

Ray rolls his eyes but sets the coffee aside and picks his guitar up, plucking out notes that Frank bobs along with for a moment until - "Fuck you, man, Journeyrolling me."

Ray smirks and as some of the tension bleeds from his shoulders he goes back to the melody he'd been playing with earlier. Frank steals his coffee, because Ray's not going to finish it now that he's playing (this brand of vegan creamer is _expensive_ in Japan), and burrows his toes under Ray's leg.

 

*****

 

Frank is exhausted by the time they arrive on the INOK set. Exhausted and horny, because it's not like he and Ray had many chances to screw around during the insanity of the Japan tour, and they don't have another day off for a week between the video shoot and rehearsal with their new drummer.

Which, fuck. New drummer. Not that Bob's _new_ new, per se, since he's toured with them before. But Frank's never seen him _play_ before, with his arms flying and lip biting and piercings and headbanging and Frank's pretty sure he can almost see the shifting muscles under his hoodie.

It's not helping with the semi-boner he's had all day. Frank would feel guilty about it, but fuck. Hot is hot. (Besides, there was that one time Ray tied Frank up and teased him by jerking them both off and muttering in his ear about one of Avenged Sevenfold's merchgirls. There's not really any secrets on tour, nor room for shame in fantasy.)

He bleeds it off by flailing around more than normal in the performance scenes, leaning over every other take to kiss Gerard on the cheek. Marc eventually yells at him to cut it the fuck out; Mikey just gives him wary looks and edges closer to Bob. Frank only bounces over to mess with Bob's kit once, in the seventh take. Bob raises one eyebrow and gives him such a look of _don't you dare, fucker, I know where you sleep_ that Frank grins sharply at him, spins away from a cymbal close enough that he imagines he can hear his jacket's zipper chime against it, and hipchecks Ray on his (very indirect) way back to stage right.

They might all be exhausted, and they might not have a day off, but they _are_ staying in hotels during the shoot and rehearsals.

 

*****

 

Things stay quiet for the next few weeks.

Everything works better now that Gerard's sobered up; and the rest of the band ends up half-sober too, now that they're not keeping liquor on the bus. The shows are tighter, the fans are more into it. Everything's great, until Frank's head starts feeling like it's in a vise and his breath goes short.

Of _course_ Frank gets sick now. He made it through Japan, and the most hellish flight he's ever been on, and a video shoot on approximately four hours of sleep, and three weeks of Gerard drying out and the band learning how to play together. On the other hand, Bob's drumming gives them a solid backbone to work with. There's no fighting or grim looks after shows; just Warcraft and D &D and comics and keeping the tour insanity to a minimum on the bus.

Compared to Japan, it's a piece of cake, but it's still a hell of a tour that bounces them back and forth around the western US and Canada and UK and when the tour crud that's been following them for six months catches up with Frank, it hits him hard.

"I _hate_ being sick," Frank grouses. He's wrapped up on the couch in the back lounge with his feet in Ray's lap. He's on the third day of what probably would have been a thirty-six hour cold, if they weren't playing shows every day in the sun, heat reflecting back on them from the asphalt parking lots. Gerard and Mikey fucked off after their set to stew in their Way juices and comic books in the front. Bob is...Frank doesn't know where Bob is, but he hasn't seen him in two hours.

Ray grunts, leaning his head back against the couch and dozing. He's been on near-constant Frank duty since hour 6, when they realized this was going to be a nasty one, holding his hair while he pukes and pumping him full of Gatorade and saltines when he can keep things down. Even his hair looks tired and sad, which kind of makes Frank feel bad, but the guilt just feeds his grumpiness. He pokes Ray in the thigh with his toes.

"I'm serious. _Hate_. Fucking weak-ass immune syst--ow, what the _fuck_?" Frank whines. He jerks, looking up when knuckles rap on his head and glares at Bob.

"Shut up, Frankie, and drink some more orange juice," Bob says. Frank grumbles but takes the bottle Bob offers, pressing the cold sweat under his chin and shivering. Bob shakes Ray awake.

"Go take a shower and go to bed, man. Your fro's making me sad," Bob tells him. Ray half-heartedly flips Bob off but levers himself up, leaning over Frank and kissing his forehead. Frank pouts -- he wants a shower too -- but he's too weak and tired to shower on his own and the bus shower's not big enough or steady enough for them to shower together. (He tried sneaking in on Ray once, and they damn near broke their necks when the bus driver swerved to avoid something. Ray hasn't let him try again.) Frank sits up and rearranges his nest to make room for cuddling while Bob puts a DVD in.

"Mr. Bean, Mr. Bean, or oh, could it be Mr. Bean?" Frank teases. Bob gives him the finger but pulls him over, scritching the back of his neck. It didn't take long for him to start picking up the touch-whore tendencies of his new band; it took the band even less time to discover and mock Bob's mancrush on Rowan Atkinson.

"Just for you, Iero, it's Red Dwarf."

Frank grins and crows a bit, doubling over and hacking when his lungs spasm and rebel. Bob rubs his back and Frank meekly takes the cough syrup he holds out to him, curling up with his head on Bob's thigh. He closes his eyes and sighs when Bob runs his fingers through his hair, rubbing his face into Bob's age-softened fleece pajama pants.

"Don't you dare get snot on these pants, asshole, we aren't stopping for laundry again for a week." Bob's trying too hard to be tough, but Frank's too tired to even try and call him out on it; he just pulls some of the quilt up under his face instead. Laundry is serious, even if he's sweaty and gross and light-headed.

The next thing Frank knows, his head's spinning and the colors from the TV are swirling in front of his eyes. He groans and curls up tightly, and only realizes he's being carried back toward the bunks when he registers Bob's hoodie clenched in his fist. Bob sets him down and Frank rolls towards warmth, cuddling close to Ray's bulk. He only faintly registers Bob's hands trailing across his ribcage and ghosting over his scalp.

"Manly drummer hands!" Frank sing-songs, running his hands under Ray's shirt. He feels more than hears Ray laughing, imagines that's what makes Bob's hands twitch.

"Top ten hit in the making, Frank?" Ray teases. Frank whines at the shock of air from Ray's fan when Ray reaches away from him and wraps his legs firmly in Ray's when Ray lays back down, snuggling close and holding him down as tightly as he can. He's pretty sure that was Ray closing the curtain and putting his glasses and Gameboy up and that Bob's wandered off to his own bunk.

"Shut up, Ray, he's got calluses. _Drummer_ calluses. I _defy_ you to mmph--" Ray's hand clamps over his mouth and Frank's too hazy to think about that reaction; he just gives in and rubs his face against Ray's chest, listening to the rumble of voices and Ray laughing. He can't quite place the other voice behind him since Bob's gone to bed, but he's much more interested in warm healing snuggles than mystery voices and he finally dozes off with Ray's fingers cupping his head.

 

*****

 

Ray waits three weeks, until they've moved on to the next tour leg and Frank's lungs are clear. They're making out in the lounge (the couch got Febreezed and the quilts washed on hot when the Crud ended; at this point it's only moderately cleaner than the kitchen counter, but since they've made out on the counter too, neither of them are actually worried about it), Frank kneeling over him and nibbling along his collarbone with one hand tangled in Ray's curls and one hand scratching at his ribcage. Ray slides his hands in Frank's waistband and grabs his ass. Frank moans and shifts closer, grinding their hips together and sucking hard at Ray's shoulder.

"Frank. _Frank_." Ray's hands are on Frank's hips now, pushing him away just a bit. Frank whines and reluctantly lets go.

"What the fuck, Toro? We don't have all day." He's sitting back on his ass now, restlessly running his hands over Ray's stomach and chest.

"I know, I know, just. What you said about Bob. What was that about?" Ray asks, brushing his hand down Frank's back and teasing Frank through his pants. Frank's wearing khakis, travel wear, and they're not nearly the barrier Ray's jeans are. Frank shivers, frustrated, and narrows his eyes, since he's pretty sure he hadn't told Ray about that dream (or four).

"What are you talking about?" Frank mutters. He gives up on trying to scoot closer (he's at tour weight, skinny as ever; Ray doesn't have a problem holding his hips in place) and attacks Ray's fly with his hands. Fucking button flies.

"When you were sick, his many manly calluses or--" Ray grunts and grabs Frank's wrists with both hands, shoving them back and glaring at him, placing Frank's hands firmly on his own thighs. "Or what the fuck ever."

" _Drummer_ calluses and dude, I was feverish and he'd just spent two hours scratching my head, what did you expect?" Frank huffs and puts his hands on his hips, because apparently they're going to have A Talk, and he hates when Ray pulls this shit during Special Boyfriend Hour. (Gerard made a sign for the lounge door. Gerard is an asshole.)

Ray screws his lips up sheepishly, shrugging. "Just...I've been thinking about it, 's'all. From the mouths of babes and shit."

"Babes, huh?" Frank smirks and sneaks his hands back to Ray's waist, running his fingers just inside his jeans and skimming one hand over Ray's dick. Ray's eyes roll back in his head and Frank grins. "I'm not that much younger than you, perv, and just what were you thinking about Bob's calluses?" He _loves_ it when he successfully diverts A Talk into sex. "Because I mean, they're pretty hardcore, and they're not just on his fingertips like ours are." He undoes the last button of Ray's jeans and pushes them down as much as he can, but he doesn't want to take the time to slide them all the way off, or Ray might remember what he was trying to talk to Frank about. He slips one hand into Ray's boxers, pulling his dick out while he grabs Ray's hair to tug his head sideways and kneels up, talking straight into his ear.

"Bet they'd feel good on your cock, yeah?" Frank says and Ray moans, shuddering. Frank blinks and watches Ray's eyes roll back in his head. Apparently Ray really has been thinking about this, which -- huh. "I bet you've jerked off to that, haven't you? How his hands would be hot and rough, all over you." Ray sucks in a sharp breath, grabbing Frank's hips hard enough to bruise and twisting both of them, throwing Frank down on the couch and crawling over him. Frank grins and arches up.

"Don't think I haven't seen you watching him, Iero." Ray growls as he unzips Frank's khakis and shucks them off with his boxers. "You're not as subtle as you think you are, you know." Ray spits into his hand and grabs Frank's cock, jacking him hard. "You flirt like a five year old."

Frank pulls Ray's head down to kiss him, biting his lips until they're red and swollen. He arches up on his shoulders to grind their hips together, reveling in the dry pull, wrapping one leg around Ray's waist and pulling him down to the couch.

"I don't know what you're talking about, _Toro_. What makes you think I have a thing for big scruffy dudes?" Frank licks his hand and reaches down to help Ray jerk them off, biting and tugging on his earlobe. Ray laughs, husky, in the back of his throat; he hitches Frank's leg up around his waist and Frank sighs a little bit watching Ray's stomach tighten almost into relief with the effort of holding himself up. He rests his forearm above Frank's head and ducks down to nip at his jaw.

"Jumping on his kit, fucking with his bunk, watching his hand and mouth when he's smoking," Ray mutters low into Frank's ear. Frank chokes back a gasp and runs the nails of his free hand down Ray's back, laughing.

"I figured it worked for you, why wouldn't it get me into his pants too?" He digs his nails into Ray's ass, squeezing his dick and palming the head. He's close, a lot faster than he expected to be, but by the way Ray's twitching Ray's closer than he is, and isn't that interesting? "But you know, it's not just me wanting his ass. He watches you from up on that riser." Ray's entire body shivers and his hips snap hard into Frank's, two, three times. Frank moans and jerks him off harder, pulling Ray through his orgasm, latching on to his lower lip and sucking for all he's worth. Frank fucking loves watching Ray lose it like this, it's hotter than porn.

Though, the thought of Bob on top of him. That's pretty fucking close. Close enough that when Ray moans softly and pulls back, focusing all his attention on Frank's dick, Frank's entire body tenses and he's coming all over Ray's belly and hand and the couch.

They collapse into the cushions, the springs of the fold-out bed protesting their combined weight.

After their breathing slows down (and sweat and come have them stuck together; Frank grimaces and scratches at his belly and wishes there was a sink back here, because now they're going to have to get dressed and walk past the bunks to the bathroom) Ray picks his head up and looks at Frank curiously.

"So. If we all want in each other's pants, what are we going to do about that?"

Frank squirms out from underneath him so he can breathe.

"Dunno. Don't want to fuck the band up. We'll have to talk to Bob - you'll have to talk to him. Talk to him like you talked to me just now and we won't have a problem." Frank grinned and ran his fingers through Ray's hair again, gently, trying not to yank at the tangles. Ray smiles and arches his head up into Frank's hands.

"Mm. We'll work it out. Nap now. I paid Mikey an extra three packs of Marlboros to distract Gee for another hour." Ray makes a half-assed swipe at their crotches with his t-shirt and tosses it back on the pile, pulling Frank close.

"Highway robbery. Fucking mercenary, those Ways, man." Frank mutters, but he feels too warm and lazy to really make a fuss. He'll just bum half the cigarettes off of Mikey anyway.

 

*****

 

Frank's not sure what Ray says to Bob, but Bob acts skittish for the next few days. It drives Frank fucking nuts; it took him almost a month to train Bob to catch him when he pounces on him, and Bob's dropping him again, ignoring him when he rebounds off his kick drum. It's a terrible regression from the progress Frank's made since the INOK shoot.

They're on the Nintendo Fusion tour, and the timing's perfect: travel days and hotel between Washington and Missouri, and days off and hotel for his birthday in Texas.

Frank normally plans his birthday months ahead; now, thinking about adding Bob, Frank's mental list of what he wants to do is growing daily.

He pulls Ray aside in the venue in Portland, leading him into an empty dressing room. They don't have soundcheck for two hours, and they finished their interview with the college radio station early, so the rest of the band isn't looking for them yet. The Roseland is small and old, quiet for now, that lull that happens between an early load-in and soundcheck. Frank slips his hands into Ray's back pockets and kisses his chin.

"What's your plan for the object of our affections, Mr. Toro?" Ray laughs and ducks his head down, kissing Frank deeply. Frank is maybe ridiculous, and he full well knows it, but it works. He kisses Ray back for a moment and pulls back, tweaking a curl. "No, seriously. What did you say to him?"

"Just. You know. We got a little drunk and I maybe kissed him," Ray says, looking kind of nervous. Frank snorts.

"Smooth, Ray. Smooth. No wonder he's freaking out." The thought of them, though - Ray's always been a handsy in-your-face sort of drunk, and Bob always gets hot and takes off his hoodie, and they'd be too big to both fit in a bunk so they probably fell against the side of a bus walking back from the Lostprophets bus - that's hot enough that Frank drops to his knees and gets to work on Ray's belt. Ray raises an eyebrow but like Frank figured isn't going to turn down a blowjob.

"You think blowing him would have been a better route?" Ray asks. Frank smirks and pulls open Ray's jeans, pushes down his boxers, burrows his face into his crotch.

"Maybe if I did it. You probably would have thrown up on his dick," Frank says. He grins up at Ray and licks one long swipe up Ray's cock. It's not totally hard yet, which is just as well. He can play more before it gets too big to easily swallow down.

"That was one - _fuck_ \- time, Frank, and you swore you wouldn't bring it up again." Ray's glaring down at Frank, but it's pretty ineffectual, since he's also petting Frank's hair and letting his hips thrust toward Frank's mouth. Frank laughs while he uses one hand to spread his spit around and jack Ray off a bit, because you'd think after knowing each other for years that Ray would know better. His eternal optimism that Frank will someday not be an asshole is kind of cute, though, and after one good hand twist (that leads to Ray moaning above him and twisting his hair tight in his hand) Frank takes pity on him and sucks him down. He keeps it messy and loose, clenching his left hand in Ray's jeans and jerking him off with his right while he takes the rest of Ray into his mouth.

He keeps his eyes open, watching Ray's eyes dilate and humming around his dick at how fucking good Ray tastes. Ray's head thunks back against the wall and he pushes Frank's hand off of him, taking over jerking off duty. Frank moans and sucks harder; he loves having a boyfriend that knows him well enough that they don't even have to talk.

He's just opened up his own jeans and started jerking himself off, palming Ray's balls and stretching his mouth wide, getting ready to beg Ray to fuck his face, when he hears a loud crash.

"Fuck. Fucking cocksuck -- um. Shitgoddamn." Frank jerks back and whips his head around and yeah, of course it's Bob, of _course_. Bob stammers out something that almost passes for an apology, spins on his heel, and walks off, leaving his practice pads and the sticks scattered over the floor.

 _Shit._

"Well...shit," Ray groans, erection half gone and mood entirely killed. He tucks himself back into his jeans and heaves Frank up. Frank busies himself with trying to make himself presentable, but if he knows anything he knows his hair's a mess and his lips are swollen and the knees of his jeans are filthy. He screws his face up and tries to fingercomb his hair into something less obviously post-blowjob.

"I'll go after him if you'll wrangle Gerard and Mikey?" Frank says. Ray nods agreement and helps Frank pick up the drumsticks. "Since apparently they got done with their grocery run early. I bet they forgot my bacon anyway." Sending them on an errand makes the wrangling marginally less obvious, and anyway, Frank has the feeling he's going to need coffee.

Frank hauls the pads and sticks in the direction Bob ran off to, and nearly runs face first into him after rounding the third corner. Bob grunts and half picks him up by his shoulders, setting him upright.

Frank shivers, still turned on and wires crossed enough that his dick takes the manhandling the wrong way.

"Look, Bob --"

"Iero. Let's not talk about it. Thanks for bringing me my stuff." Bob's flushed and Frank frowns when he gets cut off.

"Fuck off, _Bryar_ , and stop freaking out. I know Ray talked --"

Bob shakes his head angrily and pulls his sticks out of Frank's hands.

"I don't know what you two are fucking playing at, but you're crazy if you think I'll let this fuck up the best job I've ever gotten."

"What the fuck?" Frank frowns and crosses his arms angrily, keeping hold of one pair of sticks. "We're not _playing_ at anything. We both think you're hot; we want to see where it'd go. And fuck you, man, if you think I'd let anything mess this band up."

"I think two-fifths of a band fucking each other is enough, Frank. Leave me alone for a while." Bob glances down at the sticks in Frank's hand and snorts, pushing past Frank and heading in the direction of their warm-up room.

Frank kicks the wall. " _Fucking_ hell."

 

*****

 

Frank does give Bob some space: two days, while he and Ray plan. They do the shows in Portland and Spokane, then hit the road for Missouri. Somewhere in northern Wyoming the bus driver has to take his break, and they pull off into a motel. Frank jumps off the bus with Brian and comes back with keys.

"Ray and Gee and Mikey in the double twin, me and Bob in the single Queen, techs and Brian split the other two." Frank announces, bouncing on his heels. He takes his duffle from Ray with minimal groping and glances at Bob, who's looking suspiciously at them. "Ray said he and Gerard have a song to work on, Bryar. I won't bite." It's a flimsy excuse, since they have all day on the bus to work on songs; but today Gerard had a phone interview and a brainwave on his comic, and Ray spent most of the day noodling on his laptop, so it's at least a plausible flimsy excuse. Sort of. Plausible enough that Bob just snorts and takes his key, hitches his duffle up on his shoulder and walks up to their room.

Frank rolls his eyes at Ray. Mikey's already followed Gerard into their room, arguing with him about some esoteric point of Batman canon and texting away. (Crap, Frank's really going to have to buy Mikey something good for running interference like this.) Ray ruffles his hair, shorthand for kissing when they're standing in a motel parking lot in cowboy country.

"Don't molest him, Frankie, he's freaked out enough." Frank shoots Ray his best innocent look and pouts when Ray just laughs.

"Just come over in an hour, asshole." Frank wants a shower and to maybe see if he can con Bob into playing some poker.

 

*****

 

They end up watching COPS instead. Frank sprawls on the bed and scratches his belly, enjoying the A/C on his skin. He's only wearing boxers, but Bob put on his full hoodie and sweats and slippers uniform. Frank kind of wants to crawl into his lap and slip his hands under the layers, see if he can shake Bob's cool facade. Thankfully, there's a knock at the door before Frank decides that's actually a good idea.

Bob twitches and looks up, starting to shift forward, but Frank beats him to it and is already at the door. He grins at Ray and pulls him into the room, locking the door behind him.

"Pants, Frank. Someday, you will be housebroken enough to wear pants." Ray's wearing faded old pajama pants and a t-shirt. He moves to his favorite position on the bed, sitting up with his back against the headboard, and makes grabby hands at Frank, who obliges by crawling over. He straddles Ray's thighs and leans close, breathing in deep the scent of Old Spice and cheap shampoo. He's a heartbeat away from mouthing at Ray's neck when Bob's comic hits him in the back of the head.

"Ow, what the _fuck_ , Bob?" Frank pulls back and glares at him, scrambling over when he realizes Bob's packing his shit.

"If you two assholes wanted to fuck, you could have just grabbed the room in the first place." Frank grabs Bob's wrist and tugs him towards the bed. Ray reaches up and gives him a tug, too, and Bob lets them pull him down.

"Bob. We don't just want to fuck. We want _you_." Ray's wearing his most earnest face, the one that kills Frank and convinces him to give Ray the last piece of pizza every time, that Frank can't laugh at no matter what Ray says when he's wearing it.

Bob rolls his eyes but leans back on his hands. "You do realize the position this puts us in? How badly this could fuck up the band? How it looks like you only asked me to join up so you could get in my pants?" His voice is hard, like he actually believes himself, and Frank can feel his gut twist.

Frank punches him in the arm - not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough Bob flinches. "It's been two years now, dude, and the only person that's ever had a problem with us was Otter, so I wouldn't worry about our _position_."

Ray chimes in, pinching Bob's thigh. "And _the band_ invited you to join up because you were the crazy fucker that went to Europe with us for free. After that, we knew anything Gerard did wouldn't scare you off."

Bob scowls at both of them and rubs his arm. "Uh huh. And when we're done, you what, let me finish the tour and wave goodbye?"

Frank socks him in the shoulder this time, harder. "Don't be a retard, retard. We're not going to tear up your contract because you won't _sleep_ with us, what the fuck."

Bob scowls harder and looks at Ray. "Is he always this abusive?"

Frank yelps and pounces, pushing Bob's shoulders until he's laying down and straddling his hips. After years of being the baby of every band he's ever been in, he knows resistance crumbling when he hears one.

"He picks fights but only so you'll hit _him_ ," Ray says, laughing and tugging at Frank's hair to pull his head back. Frank grins and digs his fingers into Bob's hoodie, grinding down a bit, dropping his mouth open and showing off. His eyes are closed and he shivers when one of Bob's hands lands on his hips and holds him still, the other pulling Frank's jaw down to look at him. Bob's face is intense, eyes dark and serious.

"Not gonna fuck up the band," Bob says. Frank tones down his grin, does his best to make his face more serious, even though he's pretty fucking ecstatic. He kisses Bob's hand and nods.

Ray leans in and kisses Bob's forehead, chiming in. "We won't fuck the band or your career up."

Bob sighs and rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes. "This is such a bad fucking idea, but. Fuck. Fine." Frank cheers and maybe - possibly - makes victory arms, kissing Ray sharp and fierce and triumphant before he leans down and licks up Bob's jaw. Bob squirms under him and Ray laughs, levering himself off the bed. "Frank, Frank, ugh."

"'S'what you get for wearing all these layers, Bobert."

Bob groans and rolls his eyes, pushing Frank off and stripping off his hoodie. He pins Frank to the bed and kisses him, finally, for real; Frank arches up against him as the lights go out.

"You're lucky I'm too tired to fuck you into the mattress, Iero." Bob's muttering right into Frank's ear and he can feel Ray crawling up onto the bed. He's shivering, because Ray turned up the A/C and he's wearing by far the least clothes and his hair's still wet and also he's been jerking off to scenes like this for two months now, but. Yeah. It's been one of those days that just leaves you wiped at the end. They all slip under the covers and Frank kisses Bob, tugging at his lip ring and running his hands under Bob's shirt.

Ray curls up behind Frank, wrapping an arm and leg around him. It's their normal position, since they're both pretty aggressive cuddlers, but now Frank has someone warm and bulky to curl into on his other side and that just kicks ass. He tucks his head into Bob's chest and listens to the soft sounds of Ray and Bob kissing over his head as he drifts off to sleep.

Frank's pretty damn sure this is going to be _awesome_.

 

*****

 

Everyone's reaction is about what Frank expected. After the fifth time Mikey walks in on them making out, he institutes the Official Bus Delineation Policy - the back lounge is theirs to do whatever they want but genitalia stay covered and hands stay visible up front.

Frank has a sneaking suspicion Mikey is holding a grudge, but seriously, he's got two people that _want_ to see him naked now, he doesn't need to tease Mikey and Gerard anymore. Then again, it means that if the door's shut they don't get bothered under pain of Death by Bob.

The techs ignore them - techs are good at that - except Cortez, because Cortez is a gross motherfucker that keeps getting around Ray's passwords to hide kinky gay threesome porn in with Ray's Pro Tools files.

Brian puts a stop to that after Craig Aaronson comes on the bus to listen to demos and heavy moans come through his headphones instead. Brian is mostly pretty chill about the whole thing; he just grumbles about photos leaking and buys noise cancelling headphones (which, honestly, Frank's surprised he hadn't bought those years ago).

Gerard is Gerard: he adds an _s_ to the Special Boyfriend Hour sign and leaves them alone, smoking and working on comics. Though for a couple of shows he teases Frank about his hickeys on stage, he helps Ray and Bob cover up theirs, so all in all, Frank figures it went over okay.

What doesn't go over so well is the lack of comfortable nookie space on a tourbus, but it's only a week until their next hotel night. They pass their time with makeouts and handjobs and blowjobs (Frank learns that Bob's okay with a little teeth, especially on his inner thighs, and that he generally prefers being jerked off and having the head of his cock mouthed to deepthroating) and move all their crap to Frank's bunk (Frank hated climbing up into it after shows anyway) and count down to Toronto.

 

*****

 

The show in Toronto is a blur of color and light and smoke and feedback and screams. They all play the fuck out of it, because hotel nights are exciting and energizing even without the promise of hot threesome sex. Frank doesn't really remember much about it other than some particularly heated looks from Bob, especially when he did lewd things to Pansy in front of the drum riser.

He snaps out of his post-show daze when they get to the hotel room, because Ray's got Bob up against the wall and is kissing him like Bob's going off to war. Frank wants in on that.

"Ray, Ray, stop hogging him." Frank grabs Bob's wrist from where he's holding Ray's hips and pulls him away from the door, towards the bed, hitting his knees at the same time Bob's ass hits the mattress. "Pants off, Bryar, c'mon."

Ray laughs and heads to the bathroom, probably to brush his teeth. Some days he likes being clean even more than Frank.

Bob rolls his eyes. "Maybe we could have done that _before_ I sat down?" He obliges, though, standing up just long enough to strip off his clothes.

Frank leans in, rubbing his hands up Bob's thighs and nibbling at his belly. He smells of sweat and IcyHot, and Frank wrinkles his nose. Not that he objects to post-show blowjobs, God knows he and Ray have done it often enough, but.

"Hey, guys, this shower stall has a bench," Ray calls. Frank's up and moving and throwing clothes aside before Ray can finish. "...and a high-pressure showerhead. Hey there, Frank." Bob's laughter floats in behind Frank and he grins and hops up on the counter and kisses Ray, licking toothpaste out of the corners of his mouth.

"Mm, minty fresh." Frank says, tugging at Ray's jeans - they're his concert jeans, tight and sticky where his skin is sweaty and hot, and he only wears them to get to Frank (and now, Bob, Frank realizes with a little thrill). At least he already kicked off his Chucks. Bob walks behind him and turns on the shower, then helps Frank with Ray's jeans. Ray moans and his hips jerk forward - Bob probably bit his ass - and Frank smirks up at him. "I wanna ride him, while you watch, and then I wanna get in bed and jerk off while you fuck him. Please?"

"Jesus, yeah. Fuck yeah." Ray says, shuddering. He pulls Frank's head back and kisses him deep, drags him off the counter and pushes him toward the shower with a slap on the ass. "Get to it, skippy."

Frank slaps his other buttcheek, hip cocked. "Kiss my ass, Toro."

"Get in the shower, Mr. Clean," Bob says, snorting as he digs out the bodywash (and lube, and condoms - Ray's bag is practically a Wilderness Survival Kit for a non-scary version of Deliverance).

Frank sticks his tongue out and backs under the spray, groaning as the hot water pounds into his back. Bob steps in and scrubs at Frank's hair, looking down at him wryly. "You realize there's not really room for all three of us in here."

Frank grins and twists them around so Bob can stand under the water. Their washing is perfunctory at best, just enough to scrub off some of the sweat and grime. "Oh, I know. Ray can sit and watch."

"Good thing I showered earlier then, asshole." Ray gripes, but he's already put a towel on the toilet lid and sprawled out. The bathroom's laid out so that he can push the curtain aside and prop his legs up on the tub.

Frank grinds back against Bob slow and dirty, his back pressed against his chest. Bob's dick is riding at his lower back and it's nice, the hot thick weight of it against his skin. He can picture it rubbing against his tattoos, between the guns on his back, and when Bob leans down to kiss at his neck Frank groans. He wraps his arms up and around Bob's neck to scratch at the back of his head, tilts his head back and catches water in his mouth, spitting up at the ceiling.

Bob jerks when the spit/water hits him - "In the _ear_ , Frank, what the fuck" - and pinches his hip, twisting the skin and making pain flare sharp and bright for a moment before he spins him around and kisses him hard. The jewelry in their lips knocks together and pinches, tangling briefly and Frank's dick twitches against Bob's hip. Bob bites Frank's lower lip and smirks down at him when Frank moans. He pulls Frank's hips in close, shoving a thigh in between Frank's legs for Frank to rub against. Frank obliges him by pushing his hip into Bob's dick. He pulls free of Bob's mouth and attacks his shoulder, biting and sucking until he raises a hickey where Bob's backpack strap will catch it.

Bob hisses and jerks away, pushing at the bite mark but watching Frank. "You little shit, you just had to do that, didn't you?"

Ray laughs and Frank glances over; he almost feels bad for leaving him out, but Ray's eyes are dark and turned on and he's slowly, lazily, stroking himself. Frank shoots him a smile and tilts his chin up at Bob, takes a half-step back. "Get your revenge then, Bryar, c'mon. Or suck it." He jacks himself once, twice, enjoying the way Bob's watching him.

He pauses, hesitating for just a breath, and flips Bob off.

Bob's eyes snap up and narrow. He rushes Frank and grabs him up by his hips -- if Frank doesn't have a ring of bruises around his middle in the morning, he'll eat Gerard's favorite scarf -- kissing him roughly. Frank's head hits the tub enclosure with a thunk but he's done worse in shows, nothing's broken, so he wraps his legs around Bob's hips and his arms around his neck and kisses him back eagerly, nibbling up his jawline.

"Fuck me, Bob, c'mon." He thrusts as hard as he can against Bob's belly, using his shoulders for leverage. Bob groans and sits down hard on the bench, out of the spray, running his hands restlessly up and down Frank's thighs. Frank giggles. "Careful, Bobert, Brian wouldn't like that charge."

Bob slaps his ass, hard enough to leave a mark, and Frank arches up and back in surprise. "Something is seriously wrong if you're thinking about billing and our management team right now, Iero." He trails his fingers up from Frank's balls, scratching and teasing, and Frank gasps.

"Fuck yeah, Bob, your fingers and your _fuck_ \--" Frank trails off into babbling when Bob pushes two fingers in at the same time; he apparently wasn't paying attention enough to notice Ray lubing them up, and he definitely doesn't remember Bob and Ray passing notes or whatever they did to make Bob fingerfuck him like this (maybe Bob's just a sex ninja), but it's fantastic.

Mostly, though, Frank wants Bob's cock.

He hisses _more, more_ and when Bob slowly slides a third finger in he moans. Bob's fingers are broader than Ray's, or his own, and they're stretching him just a little more than he's used to. He sucks on Bob's shoulder, fucking himself on Bob's hand, jerking both of them off in starts and stutters. When Bob finds his prostate Frank whimpers and flails a little.

"Condom now! Condomcondomcond -- thank you, Ray." Ray is thoughtful and ready and has dry hands. Frank leans over and kisses sloppily at his knee in gratitude and damn near busts his lip open tumbling off Bob's lap.

"Frank, God damn it, you dumbass, you -- " Frank knows this diatribe. He cuts Bob off by rolling the condom on and sucking him down, fondling his balls for good measure. Bob groans loudly above him and thrusts into Frank's mouth, petting blindly at his head and throat and cheeks. "Shit, your mouth, Frankie, so fucking hot, I --" he cuts off with a moan and Frank looks up through his eyelashes to see Ray's leaned in to the shower and is kissing Bob deeply. Frank moans around Bob's cock and digs his nails into Bob's thighs; Bob jerks and grabs Frank's upper arms, pulling him back up into his lap. Frank straddles him awkwardly, kissing Ray and tangling his fingers in his hair.

He doesn't _mean_ to slip and pull Ray's hair out. Fucking hotel bathrooms with insufficient bathmats.

Ray jerks back with a hiss and rolls his eyes. "You're such a menace, Frank." He kisses Bob again and settles back on the toilet, leaning against the vanity, adding, "Bob should fuck you now so we can get out of here before someone breaks something."

"Bob should definitely fuck you now," Bob echoes gruffly and he pulls Frank close. Frank climbs up on the seat and keeps one hand around Bob's neck, reaching back to keep Bob's dick in place as he settles himself down. They both groan and Frank laces his fingers behind Bob's head, relishing the burn and stretch as he sinks down. Bob's hands are on his hips, squeezing in rhythm while Frank rocks up and down slowly, and Frank can see Ray's hands twitching on his thighs out of the corner of his eye.

When he's worked himself down onto Bob's cock, he sighs and rests his forehead on Bob's shoulder for just a moment. Bob's thrusting up into him irregularly, shallowly, like he can't help it; the thought sends sparks up Frank's spine and he tries to pick himself up a few times to let Bob get a real thrust in but the bench is to shallow and his knees keep slipping off.

"Bob, gimme your hands," he gasps as Bob digs his fingernails into his hips. "Ungh. Need leverage or we're never gonna get anywhere, gimme." Carefully, he reaches up and pulls Bob's hands away, putting them palm up on the bench so he can kneel on them for support, avoiding his wrists because _drummers are valuable, Frank, don't break this one_. He puts his hands back around Bob's neck and tries again and yeah, there, perfect.

"Fucking fuck, Bryar, your cock, so hot," because it _is_ like this. Frank's fucking himself on Bob's cock and Bob's basically his hostage with his hands pinned down like this and it's one of Frank's favorite positions because it lets him set the pace and intensity. Not that he minds it otherwise, generally, but staring down at Bob straining up to meet him and watching his own dick rub against Bob's stomach and the occasional brushes against his prostate - it's porn, better than porn, because it's real life and Frank has one of the strongest dudes he knows at his mercy, and that's just fucking heady.

So Frank takes his time, and ignores Ray's twitching and Bob's broken moans, keeps up his litany of fucks and shits and "goddamn it, Bryar, your cock," and "fuck me, Ray, can't wait to see the two of you, can't wait for him to fuck you."

He's not surprised, though, when Ray's eyes go hooded and he mutters, "finish it off, Bob." Ray's always been an impatient fucker.

Bob sighs and Frank grins; Bob scoots forward until there's enough room for him to cross Frank's legs behind his back, plants his feet on what slip-proof stuff the tub does have and takes hold of Frank's hips again, fucking him hard and fast. Frank knows he's going to be sore tomorrow and that's a delicious thought, that every time he sits down or squats he's going to feel it in his ass and thighs and calves and abs. Bob's moans are higher now and Frank leans down to swallow them up; they're not really kissing so much as panting into each other's mouths. The steam from the shower makes everything hot and sticky and when Ray runs his foot, cool from the tile, up Frank's leg, Frank whimpers and clenches at the sudden temperature difference.

That's all Bob needed, apparently, because he gives one last loud moan and snaps his hips up into Frank before resting back against the bench. He pets Frank absentmindedly, on his flank and back and head, and Frank leans into his chest, soaking up the nonsense mumbling that's spilling out of Bob's mouth, one hand tight around his cock so he won't come.

Ray gives them a moment - ten, maybe fifteen breaths - before he stands up and turns the water off. He leans over Frank and matches his fingers up to where Bob's already bruised him, squeezing once, sharply. Frank moans and leans against him.

"My turn now, Frankie."

Bob moans that time and Frank grins at him, squeezing around him. Bob winces and narrows his eyes at Frank before picking him up carefully. Frank's eyes flutter and he stands shakily, watching Bob grab two towels from Ray and toss one at Frank.

"Someday, Frank, I am going to tie you up and teach you some patience," Bob growls out. Frank sucks in a breath at that; they'll have to do it at Ray's, in his big bed with the slats in the headboard, but _fuck_ yeah. His eyes shut against his will when he runs the towel over his ass where he's still sensitive. When he opens them again, Bob's gotten rid of the condom and is pressed tight up against Ray, sucking under his jaw and pressing his hip into Ray's dick.

Frank has to close his eyes and think of Worm or his mother or hell, grandmother. When he's not on the edge of coming he looks again and Ray's fingers are trailing down Bob's spine, exploring and teasing. Frank grabs his dick hard and grinds out between his teeth, "Aren't the two of you too old to fuck against walls these days?" as if Ray didn't fuck him against a wall or a bus in London, or Austin, or Vegas.

Ray chokes back a laugh and mock-glares at Frank, sliding his middle finger across Bob's ass and pushing it in slowly. "Jealousy doesn't become you, Frankie. Bob might not have his rope on him, but I've got gaff tape in my bag." Bob grunts and his hands skitter across Ray's hips and Ray smiles smugly. He gives in though and grabs the lube and condoms in one hand, dragging Bob out of the bathroom with his other. Bob staggers a bit following him, sex-dumb and eyes a little lazy.

Frank watches them go, visions of gaff tape cuffs and blindfolds on himself (or Ray, the smug motherfucker) filling his head. He's so turned on he can't really process too much at once and he's so busy trying not to come all over the place that it takes him a few minutes - and the sound of Bob hitting the bed, Ray laughing at him and crawling up after him - to scramble up and follow them.

He rounds the corner and has to stop for a minute, has to watch.

Ray's got Bob on his back, two fingers in his ass and his other hand holding down Bob's hip so Ray can tease him. Bob's squirming and twisting Ray's hair into his hands, trying to tug Ray's mouth onto his cock but Ray is a stubborn bastard and he stays hovering over Bob's hip where Bob can probably feel the heat of Ray's cheek, just as a tease.

Then Ray digs his teeth into the meat of Bob's hip and Bob jerks, whimpering. He pulls hard at Ray's hair and Ray goes willingly to kiss him. Frank can see his tongue slipping out to play with Bob's piercing and he shudders, snapping himself out of his trance and stumbling over to the bed.

Bob's panting heavily into Ray's mouth and arching up under him as Ray slips another finger in. "Thought Gerard was the vampire in this band?" He sounds breathless and husky, wrecked. Frank kneels beside him and takes his hand, running his fingers up and down the veins standing out in relief along Bob's forearm.

Ray laughs again, almost giggling, and twists his fingers in Bob's ass. "Gerard's all about the aesthetic. He watched _Interview_ too often in high school."

Frank chimes in, sucking the tips of Bob's fingers into his mouth one at a time. "But we all have a bit of a biting kink. You're just so pretty when you bruise, Bob."

Ray hums in agreement and pulls his fingers out, pressing his thumb into the burgeoning bruise in Bob's hip, leaning up to talk into Bob's ear. "Say you're ready, Bob, I wanna fuck you."

Bob nods frantically, his eyes closed and head pushing hard back against the pillow, fingers twitching in Frank's hands and on Ray's back.

Frank sets his teeth into the meat of Bob's palm once, gently, then shifts to pull Bob's knee up and back while Ray puts a condom on and lubes himself up. He doesn't generally get an obstruction-free view of Ray fucking someone, and it's even hotter than he thought it'd be, seeing Ray's dick slide in inch by inch. Frank's hands are moving over the two of them restlessly, everywhere he can reach, and Ray grabs him by the chin and gives him a short close-mouthed kiss, hard enough Frank can feel his teeth through their lips. Frank leans into it, humping against Bob's thigh.

"Go take care of our boy, Frankie."

Frank blinks and looks up Bob's body, distracted by the way his hips are undulating against Ray's thrusts. He crawls up onto Bob's chest and kneels over him, tangling their fingers together over Bob's head, and catches Bob's mouth with his. They kiss until Bob relaxes and Frank can feel it when Ray hitches Bob's legs up around his waist and fucks him harder. Bob arches up hard and suddenly Frank's practically titty-fucking him. He can't help moaning, at that thought, he's so fucking turned on; Ray's panting against his back and the hair on Bob's chest is a teasing sort of scratch against his dick and he just grabs Bob by the shoulders and thrusts along his sternum. He's whining in the back of his throat, strung out and high pitched; Bob pitches in by licking his hand and wrapping it around Frank's dick, and Ray bites his shoulder, and then Frank's coming all over Bob's chest and throat.

Frank collapses on top of Bob for just a moment, running his thumb and forefinger up and down Bob's throat, kissing at his beard. Then his brain catches up with reality and he's rolling off onto his back, holding his stomach and laughing so hard he almost can't breathe. He doesn't stop until Ray slugs him in the hip.

"Quit it, I can't concentrate with your cackling," Ray says. He frowns down at Frank and kneels up to change angles, thrusting in hard and fast; Bob keens and scrambles, grabbing Frank's hand hard enough it's probably going to bruise and clinging to Ray's neck with the other. Ray's eyes roll back into his head and his thrusts go rough and erratic. Frank grins and nibbles at the back of Bob's hand, watching Ray's face and the contractions in his abs as he gets closer and closer.

"Look at him fucking you, Bob. Don't you wish you could come again?" Frank reaches down and teases him, scratching at Bob's belly and running one finger up his dick too light for anything but tickling. "Because he's about to come in you, and he _loves_ a little extra...squeeze at just the right moment."

"You fucker," Bob groans, half-laughing, half-gasping and twisting away from Frank's fingers. That's enough to push Ray over the edge. He moans, loudly enough that they're going to get shit from the techs next door, and throws his head back, thrusting deep and fast into Bob. Time seems to pause for a minute, everyone holding their breath; then Ray lets go of Bob's legs and drops down onto his hands, kissing Bob's cheeks and nose.

"So hot Bob, fuck, and the two of you," Ray says into Bob's ear, then turns his head and Frank's there to kiss him, gentle and sweet because Ray always gets affectionate and cuddly after he comes. Bob's sighing under them, trailing his fingers up Frank's back, patient and content for a moment until he starts squirming a few minutes, though he waits longer than normal.

"You're a sex god, Toro, now get off of me so I can breathe." Bob grins up at him and kisses him lightly to take any sting out of the words, but Ray just laughs and pulls out of him carefully, rolling off the bed with a grunt.

Frank pouts at Bob. " _He's_ a sex god?"

Bob just pinches the curve of his ass a bit. "Yeah, you too, Frankie."

"You shouldn't give in so easily, Bob, you'll spoil all my training." Ray comes back with a washrag and wipes Bob off, tossing the rag to the floor.

Frank just flips Ray off lazily. "Whatever, Toro, you know you love my sweet ass." Ray hums (sarcastically, like he's taking lessons from Mikey) and tosses the top coverlet, tugging the quilt and sheet over them while Frank reaches up to turn off the lamp. Frank kind of loves this part of staying in hotels; might as well use the top fake-quilt to prevent wet spots.

They curl up together, Bob in the middle, legs and arms tangled together. Frank checks over Bob's hands and kisses each line of delicate bone, checking for bruising by pressing his thumbs into Bob's palms. After he assures himself the plastic bench isn't going to stop Bob from playing tomorrow, he starts drawing random shapes on Bob's chest, picturing him with tattoos, and he starts giggling again.

Bob just groans and mutters at him, "What's so funny?"

"Dude. Dude, I came on your _tits_ ," Frank says, and he can practically hear Ray rolling his eyes, but he doesn't stop his giggling. He's being mostly quiet, and Ray's certainly fallen asleep to Frank laughing before.

Bob just snorts. " 'S'okay. I'll just come on your face next time."

Frank stops giggling suddenly, squeezing Bob's thigh with his legs. "Promises, promises, Bryar."

He can hear the smirk in Bob's voice when he answers. "I'm a man of my word, Iero."

Ray groans at them. "Shut up, both of you, bus call's at 7am. We can discuss your kinky predilections on the road."

Frank barks out a laugh. " _Our_ kinky mmph--" He bites at whatever hand just slapped over his mouth but settles down and relaxes against Bob's chest.

 _Such_ a great idea, whatever Bob said.

 

*****

 

Somehow, the planets have aligned or the universe was feeling kind or Brian is a psychic, Frank doesn't know, but the tour has a travel day on Frank's birthday. Gerard and Mikey take up a collection from the techs and present them with three plane tickets from Houston to Nashville the morning of the show -- "As if we _want_ to listen to what you're giving him" "Jealous, Gerard! You're just jealous!" -- so they have two nights and a day in a hotel. Frank spends the Houston show bouncing around like a kangaroo on speed and makes Ray and Bob take showers at the venue, because as nice as their shower sex was, tonight is about following his plan and pretty much the only way they will get naked without stopping for orgasms is venue showers.

And besides, they have to make an appearance at the obligatory party.

But finally, _finally_ they make it to the hotel. And this is Frank's luckiest birthday _ever_ because they have a room at the end of the hall. Frank cheers and is in the room, lube and condoms on the dresser, shirt half-off, by the time Ray and Bob make it across the threshold.

"Jesus, Frank, we've got like thirty hours. Easy there, Tonto." Ray's voice is rich with amusement and Frank nearly falls over laughing because his shirt's tangled up with his arms.

" _Tonto_? What the fuck, Toro, you're not _that_ old." He recovers himself and tosses his shirt aside, grinning up at Ray and wrapping his arms around his neck. "Or are you? Do you need an aspirin and a heating pad before we get started, baby?"

Ray snorts but kisses him. "Oh, I'm sure Bob will help me out. Somehow, we'll keep up with you."

Frank catches the look he shoots Bob and shivers. "Better get started, then," Frank says. He reaches down to grope Ray through his jeans, but Bob's hands grab him by the hips and pull him back. Bob's got his shirt off, at least, and Frank rubs back against the muscles and bit of paunch while they watch Ray strip. Bob nuzzles under his ear and rubs his beard against Frank's neck. Frank twists around to face him and pull him down for a kiss.

"Suck me off, Bob," Frank moans into his mouth. "Suck me off and then --"

Ray's fingers tangle with Bob's on his hips and grips him tight, pulling Frank back against Ray's half-hard cock. "And then I'll fuck you while you suck Bob off, mm?"

Frank shivers again and moans more deeply. "Yeah, yeah, fuck yeah."

Ray grins against the nape of Frank's neck, nips lightly at the vertebrae. "Get naked then, Frankie."

Frank giggles and pulls free of them, stripping off his jeans and scoots back on to the bed. "That's not what you said before the show."

"That's because before the show you were threatening to scar Gerard for life," Bob says as he pushes Frank onto his back and starts jerking him off. "And the lead singer is important for the future of the band."

"What? Nah. He's only the lyricist and singer, no big deal. Ray could totally replace him," Frank snarks back, humming and scrabbling at Bob's head when Bob finally puts his mouth on him. Bob kisses and sucks at his hips and thighs, his beard scratching along the sensitized skin. Bob's hair is still shorter than Frank likes, being used to Ray's fro, and it makes Frank jerk around, hunting for a handhold while his heels dig into the muscles of Bob's back.

"While I appreciate your faith in my abilities, Frank, that is a terrible idea," Ray says as he drops the tube of lube on the bed next to Frank's ass and moves to sit by his head. Bob shakes his head, irritated, and nips once sharply at Frank's belly.

"Twitchy fucker. Ray should hold you down before you rip out another earring."

Frank props himself up on his elbow to protest. "That was an _accident_ , Robert."

Bob snorts, pulling Frank down the bed roughly to make room for Ray, who sits above Frank's head and grabs both his wrists in one hand easily, holding them against his thigh. His other hand trails up and down Frank's arms and throat until Frank almost purrs and arches into the contact. It tickles, almost, but not in a way that makes him want to giggle or curl up. It just makes him warm and tingly all over; he can stretch into it, feel the stretch all the way down to his toes.

Bob just watches them, eyes dark, licking his lips, until Frank starts squirming and whining at him. "Bob. _Bob_. I appreciate the eye fucking and all," Frank says, reaching up with one heel and wraps it around Bob's back, trying to pull him back down. "But I really think that mmph--" Frank's cut off when Ray clamps his hand over his mouth. He tries to open his mouth to lick or bite at Ray's palm but Ray's hands are huge and it's not the first time he's had to gag Frank, and anyway Bob _finally_ sucks Frank down. He doesn't have the concentration to waste on fighting Ray.

Bob's mouth is hot and wet, and he's got one hand pinning Frank's hips down and one hand on the base of his dick with just the right amount of pressure. His lip ring's a little cooler than usual from the motel room A/C, and the contrast to the hot hot heat of his tongue makes Frank hiss and arch up into their holds. Bob's thumb is digging in to the hollow of his pelvis, holding him down just as firmly as Ray's hand holds his wrists; Frank moans, imagining the bruises he'll probably have by the time they leave the hotel. He'll have to wear a hoodie and his fingerless gloves for the next week of shows, but it's November and they're heading north--

Bob chooses that moment to suck further down Frank's dick, moving his free hand to fondle Frank's balls and rub behind them, and Frank definitely does not have the brain cells to plan his wardrobe. He moans and pants behind Ray's hand, slipping his tongue out to lick around Ray's fingers. Ray squeezes his jaw gently and slips two fingers into Frank's mouth at the same time Bob pushes two fingers into his ass. Frank whimpers and shudders, biting down just a bit on Ray's fingers while he adjusts to Bob's. Bob's been fingering him all week, and it's always awesome - his fingers are shorter than Ray's, but broader and rougher, a more intense stretch. Bob keeps licking at the head of his dick, watching his face - and that's so hot, seeing Bob's eyes looking up from between his legs. Frank sighs and nods, shutting his eyes, relaxing his torso back against Ray. He can feel Bob's grin and he takes a deep breath to stay relaxed as they both add a finger at the same time. Even just that little increment more of stretch ratchets up the sensation, in a way that sends heat all the way up Frank's spine to pool in his chest behind his ribs.

The lube cap pops and there's a squelch of Bob pouring more onto his fingers, and Frank shivers in anticipation. He doesn't really need what's coming next; he's more than stretched enough for Ray to fuck him. But for the sake of what's coming tomorrow, he doesn't try to rush Bob on.

The fourth finger is a shock, because they haven't done that before, but Bob takes his time, keeps sucking him through it, and it doesn't hurt, but Frank whimpers and gives up all pretense of sucking at Ray's fingers. Ray brushes his cheekbone with his thumb and pulls his fingers out of Frank's mouth to trail saliva down his throat and chest, over and around his nipples. The cold air hits the moisture, raising goosebumps along the trail, and Frank twitches, because Ray's got a nail flicking at his nipple while it feels like his dick is practically halfway down Bob's throat and his ass is stretched wide where Bob's fingers are rubbing lightly against his prostate. Bob's beard on his thighs is a sharp prickly counterpoint and Frank whimpers again and digs his heel into Bob's broad back, jerks against Ray's hand.

"Bob, Bob, fuck, I'm gonna - _fuck_ ," Frank groans, because Bob's fingers are pressing hard against his prostate and his tongue is just under the head of Frank's dick and he's gone, the heat in his chest pouring through his groin as he comes into Bob's mouth. Bob just takes it, swallows it down and sucks him through it. Frank unwraps his legs from Bob's shoulders and rubs his head against Ray's leg, reveling a bit in the sensation of Bob licking him through the aftershocks and slowly pulling his fingers out. Ray relaxes his grip and rubs Frank's wrists, pressing his fingers into the tendons just a bit.

Bob and Ray kiss then, sloppy and messy. Frank feels lazy, drifting in a haze of endorphins. He enjoys himself, watching for a minute, then reaches for the lube and condoms. When he looks back, Bob's crawled halfway into Ray's lap and he's kissing him slow and dirty. Frank groans; that's his come that Ray is so eagerly licking from Bob's mouth. He squeezes out a bit of lube and jacks himself slowly, lightly, just fingers wrapped loosely around his dick. He's not going to get hard again, not so quickly, but the tingling of oversensitized flesh is delicious, making him groan a little more loudly.

Ray pulls free of Bob with a gasp, running his hands up and down Bob's side while Bob does his best to break the landspeed record in hickey production. "Bored over there, Frankie?"

Frank shrugs and leans back on his heels, "It's lonely out in left field, y'know."

Ray shudders at something Bob's done - Frank can't see, but when Ray pulls away he's got a vivid new bruise on his collarbone and he says a little breathlessly, "I'm sure we can help you with that, Frank."

Ray leans down, kisses Bob briefly, and whispers into his ear. Bob nods and shuffles around so that he's on his knees, back to the headboard. Ray crawls around behind Frank and takes the lube and condoms from him, talking low into his ear while he gets ready. "I'm not even going to feel you, Frank. Just gonna pull you back onto my cock, let you stretch yourself. You ready for that, baby?"

Frank moans and nods. He lets Ray manipulate him into place, so that Frank's kneeling over Ray's lap, but reaches out and grabs Bob's knees for leverage. He's glad for the solid base when Ray takes him at his word and just pushes in - slow, so slow, but steady and huge and almost too much. Frank drops his head into Bob's lap and pants shallowly, arching into Bob's soothing hands on his back. His orgasm's made him sensitive and tight enough that he's more glad than usual that Ray goes overboard on the lube, that Bob was so diligent in stretching him earlier.

"Okay, Frankie?" Ray asks. He's shifted them up and forward some so that the angle's more direct, but he's hardly thrusting at all, waiting for Frank to relax around him.

Frank breathes in, counts to three, breathes out; he blows the heated air up towards Bob's dick, grinning when Bob twitches and grabs him by the back of the neck.

"Yeah, Ray. So fucking okay." And he is, now that he's relaxed some, the pain-burn of the stretch transposed by endorphins into a pleasure-burn that makes him reach up and lick Bob's dick before sucking him into his mouth. He keeps it loose and sloppy, uses his hand to jack Bob off. Bob groans and twists his fingers into Frank's hair.

Ray grasps his hips more firmly and pulls out slowly, stretching out the movement. He holds it until Frank's moaning around Bob's cock, nearly lost in giving him head, because Bob's shape is still new and it's a heady feeling, sucking off someone new; then Frank hears Ray groan and suddenly Bob's dick is at the back of his throat because Ray's thrusting in deep and hard and Bob's just lucky Frank long ago learned how to control his bite reflex.

The noises they all make when Bob and Ray are in as deep as they can get make Frank really, really grateful they're at the end of the hall, but he's too busy trying to breathe through his nose to think about it. Their rhythm's staggered and choppy, but Frank pushes down on Bob's hips and just drops his jaw as open as he can, letting Ray push him forward onto Bob, humming his gratitude when Bob grabs his own dick to give Frank a barrier. He's not being careful with his teeth, but Bob's just shaking and babbling above him, his free hand gripping restlessly at the nape of Frank's neck.

Ray sets up a steady pace, hitting Frank's prostate more often than not. Sparks shoot up Frank's spine and he shudders, because coming twice really wasn't on his agenda for tonight but he's not going to complain if it happens. Ray's internal metronome has always been better than anyone else's and Frank just melts into it, lets Ray carry most of the weight of his hips. He moans theatrically around Bob and Bob chokes out a laugh.

"Jesus, Frank, your fucking _mouth_ , I can't even," Bob's babbles. He cuts off suddenly and Frank feels the angle of his torso and the angle of Ray's thrusts change and he moans again, real this time, because he knows they're kissing above his back. He pushes up on his forearms, uses his hands to press behind Bob's balls and jerk him off, mixing precome and spit and squeezing tight until he hears Bob gasp above him. He grins to himself and lets Ray push him deeper onto Bob; on the backthrust, he scrapes his teeth just behind the head of Bob's dick, and Bob practically whimpers and thrusts up sharply. Frank pulls back, lets Bob's come splash on his cheeks and across his mouth.

Bob sinks back against the headboard, stretching his legs out. Frank rests his head along Bob's thigh and rubs his face off, exhaling on Bob's dick every time Ray pushes in; he's slowed down some now and it's a tease to both of them. Bob twitches, like he's going to move away, and Frank wraps his arms around Bob's leg, moaning a bit and rubbing his face on Bob's knee more obnoxiously.

"Jesus, that's disgusting, Frank," Bob says.

Frank snorts up at him and opens one eye lazily. "It's your come, Bryar."

Ray grunts behind him and apparently decides that's enough downtime, because he shoves in hard and fast and rough and Frank yelps before digging his teeth into the meat of Bob's thigh to muffle himself. Bob twitches violently and Frank turns his mouth away, reaching down to stroke his own cock in time to Ray's pelvis arching into his. Ray's not even trying for his prostate now, just fucking him fast and rough and dirty in a way they usually save for quick fucks in venue bathrooms. Frank jerks himself off faster, body taut and he's almost there, he fucking _loves_ coming twice - and then Bob grabs his hair and twists it around his fingers sharply, pulling his head up and back.

"You should come now, Frank, give Ray that _squeeze_ ," Bob says. His voice is low and husky and Frank moans at the reminder of their first hotel night. His eyes clench shut and he comes all over his hand and the bedspread, mouth open and panting. It's long and slow and he clenches tight around where Ray's fucking him with a whimper. The drag of the friction of Ray fucking into him while he comes makes him feel like he's burning up and he grabs the sheets, bunching them up into his fingers while he pushes back on Ray.

Finally, though, Ray snaps his hips up, deep and hard. He comes with a groan and nearly collapses onto Frank, stopping himself so close to Frank's back that Frank's pretty sure he can feel Ray's sweat falling from his chest onto Frank's spine. None of them move for an 8-count while Ray catches his breath and Bob combs his fingers through Frank's hair. Ray shakes himself and pulls out slowly with a groan and flops onto his back.

Frank sighs and grabs the edge of the blanket to wipe off lube and sweat and come all over his skin.

"Seriously Frank, so disgusting," Bob mutters, but he's doing the same thing to his leg that Frank had rubbed all over.

Frank just flips him off lazily. "Whatever, that's what the other bed's for. We can ask for clean sheets in the morning."

Ray wrinkles his nose and pushes himself up to toss the condom and pull boxers and sleep pants on. "It _is_ morning, ugh." He pulls the bedding back on the other bed though and crawls in, flopping on his back. "C'mere, fuckers."

Frank wipes his hand off and grabs his boxers, pulls them on and slips in next to Ray. He waits for Bob to dress -- he still wears more clothes than Frank likes, but he's relented in that he'll sleep without the hoodie some nights -- and turn the light off and get in bed before he pinches Ray's side.

"No running in the morning, Toro. We are going to sleep for ten hours and get room service and it's going to be _awesome_ ," Frank says, as firmly as he can.

Ray snorts and rolls towards him, cupping Frank's hip in his hand. "You are more than enough exercise, don't worry."

Frank just grins into Ray's neck.

 

*****

 

When Frank wakes up, the room is that sort of dim that comes of thick curtains diffusing bright sun. Ray's hand is slipped down the front of his boxers, palming one of his sparrow tattoos, and Frank can feel him breathing against the back of his neck. It's peaceful, and quiet but for Bob's snores and the A/C running. Frank stretches, feeling the pull in his thighs and ass and groans a little as he pushes his hands up over his head.

"Sore?" Ray asks. His hand rubs at his belly as he kisses the back of Frank's neck and Frank smiles. He's pretty sure if he were a cat he'd be purring.

"A little? 'S'good though." Frank shakes himself loose and crawls on top of Ray, kissing his forehead. "You should order breakfast while I shower. Pancakes with --"

"Flaxseed apple pancakes with extra butter and fake bacon, peach syrup if they have it, I know. Also, ew."

Frank grins and kicks Bob in the ribs as he hops off the bed. Bob curses loudly behind him.

Frank decides it might be prudent to lock the bathroom door.

 

*****

 

By the time Frank's out of the shower, there's a covered plate (and two plates with scant remains of waffles and eggs and sausage) on the table and Ray's straddling Bob's lap as they make out on the loveseat. It's kind of ridiculous, because neither of them are small dudes, but it's also kind of hot because Frank can see the muscles in Ray's back trembling as they hold the arc in his spine. Frank walks over and runs his hands up Ray's back, enjoying the way he gasps and arches back toward him.

"Starting without me?" Frank kisses Ray and heads for his pancakes. "Fake-on! Score."

Ray laughs. "You were taking too long. We need to shower, too."

Frank waves them off and digs into his pancakes while Ray drags Bob into the bathroom. They're perfect -- he's going to have to remember this hotel -- and he feels energized after. The food and the shower and the sunlight coming through the curtains have him awake and anticipation has him a little twitchy, picturing Bob and Ray making out in the shower twenty feet away.

He shivers a bit at that, rubbing his belly -- he's almost too full to want to do anything, but apparently Ray knows him well enough to even order the right amount of food, which makes him smile -- until he realizes that they must've called housekeeping while he was showering, too, because the bedding on the second bed is fresh. He grins, digging condoms and lube out of Ray's duffle, dropping his towel and crawling onto the bed. The polyester bed cover is itchy against his skin and he frowns, kicks it off until just the soft cotton sheets are on; what they've got planned is uncomfortable enough without plastic thread digging into their skin.

The shower goes off as Frank piles the pillows against the headboard. He sprawls against them, arms behind his head, and plasters his best cocky grin across his face as they emerge from the bathroom. Neither of them bothered to dry off well -- the steam rolling out the door with them means they probably couldn't have even if they had wanted to -- and Frank grins and goes up on his knees, grabbing Bob by the waist and licking up his belly from his hips to sternum. It took them a while, but they finally got Bob to believe them that no, really, it was totally hot of Bob to walk around naked. Bob tastes spicy and salty, of underlying sweat and Ray's body wash, and Frank has been plotting with Ray for New Year's: ties on the headboard so he can trace Bob's stretchmarks with his tongue and lips and teeth, maybe a blindfold, if Bob's up for it. But that's not the goal for tonight, so Frank just sets his teeth gently at Bob's waist and waits.

Bob shivers under his teeth, but it's Ray's hand that cups his neck and pulls him back, twists his head up so Frank can see him looking down at him with eyes dark and serious; Ray's voice that asks, "We still doing this then, Frank?"

Frank nods, a little frantically, and stretches up to wrap his arms around his neck, kisses the stubble on the underside of his jaw and across Ray's chest. Bob steps close to them and laughs at him, running his fingers through his hair.

"Use your words, Frankie," Bob says. His fingers wrap around the back of Frank's neck and his thumb presses up under his jaw, lightly, just enough to push him back away from Ray. Ray's hands trail across his back and he looks down at Frank, smirking at him.

Frank pouts and angles his head so he's looking up through his eyelashes. "I want," he kisses Ray, "both of your cocks," then kisses Bob, "in my ass. Clear enough?" And he grabs both of their towels and tugs them closer to the bed, hard enough they stumble a bit at the pull.

Ray groans softly and nods. "Yeah, clear."

They arrange themselves quickly enough after that: Ray on his back against the pillows; Frank kneeling, face to face, over him; Bob kneeling behind Frank's back. Making out with all three of them can be a logistical nightmare of knees and elbows and fingers, but they've been practicing on the bus (and in the dressing rooms when they can get away with it). Bob kisses up Frank's spine and traces his tattoos with his tongue while Frank kisses Ray and when Frank ducks down to grind against Ray a little and suck at his nipples Bob stretches up to kiss him over Frank's head. Bob's weight presses Frank down into Ray, and he feels hot and closed in and sheltered. He moans and arches his back, pressing his hips back into Bob's half-hard cock, grinds back against him. The angle's too awkward for him to take Bob in his hand, but with the space now he can stroke Ray. He palms the head of Ray's cock and watches his stomach twitch restlessly. Bob rolls off of them to grab the lube and Frank smiles up at Ray before he bends in half and mouths at him.

Ray's not fully hard yet, so Frank sucks him down as far as he can go, meeting his fist with his lips. Ray's hands skitter across his shoulders and upper back, and Frank hums around him, imagining chords and melodies in the patterns of Ray's fingers on his skin. He can feel Ray's dick filling as he sucks, turning hard on his tongue and he pulls back to suck at the head, one hand jerking him off slowly while his other hand scratches at Ray's inner thigh and pelvis. Ray moans and his fingers twitch and move up to pet Frank's cheeks and neck, brush his hair off his face. Frank looks up at him and slips back far enough to tongue at the slit, rubbing his thumb just under the head. He knows exactly what he looks like when he's sucking cock -- Ray's taken pictures and they're all swollen red lips, sweaty hair in his eyes, tattooed fingers running across Ray's skin -- and he knows exactly how much Ray likes it. Ray gasps and pulls Frank up to kiss him deeply, almost bruisingly hard, hands tight on Frank's hips.

Bob's hands run down Frank's back and waist to squeeze his ass; he kisses the back of Frank's shoulder lightly, asking. Frank moans into Ray's mouth and pulls back a bit to catch his breath and nod back at Bob. He rests his head on Ray's shoulder and just breathes, trying to stay relaxed as Bob slowly -- so slowly -- stretches him, two and three and four fingers. Ray keeps up a running commentary into his ear and a couple of times Bob pauses to kiss Ray, or bite Frank's hip, or lick around his fingers. Frank's twitching by the time Bob gets up to his pinkie, because it's a stretch but he's still hungry for _more_ and Bob is going _really fucking slow_.

"Fucking hell, Bob, that's enough," he spits out, and he grinds up against Ray's cock for some friction.

Bob just laughs at him, but he pulls his fingers out and helps Frank put the condom on Ray. Frank steadies himself by holding onto Ray's shoulders, and Ray's hands are still on his waist while Bob positions the both of them. Frank lets himself sink down onto Ray with a sigh, thighs trembling as he teases himself with the familiar feeling of Ray filling him up.

Ray's impatient, though, and groans and thrusts up sharply into Frank. Frank's moan chokes off in his throat and he arches his back, throwing his head back--

"Mother _fucker_!"

Into Bob's face, apparently. "Shit, Bob," Frank says, twisting and leaning back to take Bob's face between his hands and kiss his nose and brow and cheeks. "Shit, I'm sorry." Ray groans under him and pushes his hips up into Frank, so Frank's kisses land a little wild. Bob just grunts when Frank's nose gets pushed into his eye and pushes him away.

"Chill, Frank, it won't be the first black eye you've given me," Bob says, rolling his eyes and kissing him back before pressing him forward, his broad hand easily spanning the space between Frank's shoulder blades. Frank resists just for a moment, pushing back against him, but Bob's other hand is trailing down his spine, dragging through the sweat and tracing his tattoos and teasing the hairs along the curve of his ass and it's fucking distracting.

Bob's finger teases him around Ray's cock and Frank twitches, leaning closer to Ray's chest. He sucks on Ray's nipple until Bob growls into his ear to take a breath, and rests his forehead on Ray's chest when Bob pushes two fingers in, twisting them around. Ray's hands are restless, like he can't decide whether he wants to roll Frank over and fuck him into the mattress or just pet him, and his thrusts are uneven and awkward. They both moan when Bob starts stretching Frank again. He tries to tell his muscles to relax, because he can hear Ray breathing a little more shallowly, like it's almost too much for him; Frank just loves the burn and he wants more and Bob won't give it to him until he thinks Frank's ready.

He whines and pushes back against Bob and fuck, Bob pays attention, because as soon as Frank relaxes and takes a breath Bob's pressing back in with a third finger. Frank shudders and forces himself to still, taking deep breaths, focusing on the texture of Ray's chest hair under his fingers and the dips of muscle under his lips instead of how full he feels, because there's more coming. Ray's barely thrusting now, just shallow twitches upwards, all of them absorbed in the motion of Bob's fingers. Bob twists his hand slowly, scissoring a bit, and Frank gasps, because that's pressing Ray's dick into his prostate and sparks are shooting up his spine to his brain.

" _Fuck_ , Bob, fucking fuck, your _fingers_ , fuck me fuck me please," Frank's babbling and digging his fingers into Ray's biceps, his thumb pressing deep into his SL tattoo for leverage to push back against Bob's twisting, stretching, really fucking talented fingers. Frank's never going to be able to watch him play with his drumsticks ever again.

"Bryar. _Bob_. You better fucking do it soon," Ray groans out under him. Frank can feel Ray's dick twitching and Bob must be able to as well, because his fingers slide out. Frank almost feels empty, it's such a change in pressure, and he huffs a little laugh at the absurdity of feeling empty while Ray's dick is in his ass. Ray raises an eyebrow at him, curious, and takes advantage of Bob's absence to thrust up sharply into him, but Frank just shakes his head and rolls his hips down into him eagerly.

Ray's hands are tight on his hips, thumbs rubbing over the ridges of his hip bones and spreading almost up to his ribs. Bob's breathing heavily onto the back his neck, his free hand rubbing Frank's lower back. His other hand -- his magic fingering hand -- he must be using to direct, because the blunt pressure of his cock is slowly pressing its way in on top of Ray's.

Frank moans once, low and long, and tries to remember how to breathe. He feels like he's on fire; it's amazing and awesome and awful at how different the sensation is between the fingers and Bob's actual cock, pressing its way inside, and it hurts, but it's a pain he can embrace and run with. His dick's gone soft but he's still fucking turned on, like he's about to jump out of his skin, and his fingers grip desperately at Ray's forearms. Dimly, he can hear Bob and Ray talking around him, but all he can really think about is the fact that he has two cocks _in his ass_ , something he's only ever seen in porn. He's never even met someone that said they'd done it.

Then Bob starts thrusting slowly and shallowly against them, but Frank's so tight he can feel every quarter-inch. The pleasure from the constant pressure on his prostate starts overcoming the burn and pain of the stretch and he moans, pushing off of Ray's chest to wrap his arms back around Bob's neck and writhe against him. The change of angle forces both of them deeper and he whimpers, twisting his head around to try and kiss Bob. He can't focus on it, though, and ends up just mashing their lips together and nipping at his lips and breathing into his mouth.

Ray's fingernails dig deep into his hips and he gasps and looks down at him. Ray's eyes are clenched shut and his head is arched back, exposing the hollows and tendons of his neck; his stomach is trembling and Frank can feel his thighs twitching underneath where he and Bob are pinning them to the bed. He lets go of Bob's neck to run his hands down to meet Ray's wrists, squeezes them until Ray opens his eyes and looks up at him.

Frank grins down at him, brain still buzzing but a little clearer now, and slurs out, "Is it good for you too, baby?"

Ray makes a strangled noise, half laugh and half whimper, and pushes up as hard as he can with both of them sitting on him. "You have no idea, Frank, so fucking tight and hot, your mouth and your belly and your fucking ass, _shit_."

Frank leans forward again and scrapes his teeth down Ray's chest, catching a nipple and tugging at it. He can feel Bob's hand drop down to press under Ray's dick and Ray spits out a _fuck_ so loudly that Frank kind of hopes this hotel's nice enough to have decent soundproofing. Ray's entire body goes tense and sharp under Frank's hands and thighs as he comes, and Frank's so tight around them that he can feel every pulse and twitch of his cock. Bob pauses, hands convulsing around Frank's waist when Frank squeezes and bears down around them. Ray's shuddering underneath them and if Frank didn't know better he'd think Ray had passed out, but after a couple of breaths Ray's clumsily patting at Frank's hips.

"Too tight, fucking _good_ but too tight, too heavy, get off." He's slurring his words, hardly intelligible but Frank gets it and stretches up to kiss him while Bob slowly pulls out with a quiet groan.

Frank rolls off of Ray and leans back against his chest. Ray's so blissed out he's practically a human pillow. Frank scratches at a glob of drying lube on his belly (god only knows how it got there) and looks up to snark at Bob.

But Bob's crawling over him, eyes dark and predatory, and Frank's mouth goes dry.

"Ready, Frankie?" Bob asks, and Frank hardly has time to nod before Bob pulls his legs up, thrusting inside him as deep as he can in one hard push. It's the friction Frank's been waiting for and he squirms back against Ray's chest, wrapping his legs tight around Bob's waist. Bob drops his head down to kiss him as aggressively as he's fucking him, and it's just right, fast and hard and dirty. Between the stretching and the fucking, he's going to be sore as hell later, but he really doesn't care because Bob's tilting their hips to angle into him just _so_ and Ray's regained enough awareness to runs his fingernails absently over them, light scratches that add an edge to the heat low in Frank's belly.

Frank scrabbles at Bob's head and shoulders for a moment (they're going to have to convince Bob to grow his hair out, seriously) before settling on digging his fingers into Bob's biceps. He hopes they bruise; bruises on Bob always show up the best, and he walks around so covered up that stripping him is like opening a birthday present.

"Never met anyone as fond as bruises as this fucking band, Jesus wept," Bob growls out above him, punctuating it with quick short thrusts just over Frank's prostate. He's going fast enough now that Frank knows he's close and Frank whines, because he's hard now but nowhere near coming even if his brain's short circuiting. He can't string syllables into actual words, so he just moves one heel down to Bob's ass to pull him in as hard as he can.

Ray leans down and whispers into his ear, just loudly enough that Bob can hear. "I'll take care of you, Frankie baby, don't you worry," and he leans up to kiss Bob deeply. Frank whimpers a little bit, watching Ray's teeth tug at Bob's lip ring just in front of his face. Bob moans and makes one last desperate thrust into Frank before he comes hard enough to leave him shaking. He collapses half on top of him and Frank squirms up against him desperately, trying to rub off against Bob's belly. Ray and Bob's bulk is warm and engulfing and all their legs are tangled up and as turned on as he is right now it's almost enough to just hump something.

Almost, but not quite.

He opens his mouth to complain -- it's his _birthday_ , goddamn it, why is he the last one to come, and why are they just laying there when he's so turned on -- and Ray's hand claps down over it.

"Shh, Frankie, I told you I'd take care of you." Ray pushes at Bob's shoulder and Bob rolls off of him. Frank jerks himself off, really just rolls his balls around his hand and circles his dick loosely with his fingers, while they rearrange and throw away condoms. They end up with Bob sprawled out at an angle to Frank and Ray between Frank's legs, on all fours over him. Ray takes his hands and pushes them up over his head, swallowing Frank's whine with a kiss. "You were so amazing, Frankie, can't believe you let us both fuck you."

Frank hums and kisses him back, arching up under him as Ray kisses down his neck and chest. He's warm and loose, almost more ready to sleep than come, but fuck if he's going to _say_ that because there's still a burn under his skin that he wants to bleed off so he can take some Ibuprofen and pass the fuck out.

Ray traces the swallows on his hips with tongue and teeth and keeps muttering, "So hot between us, just taking it, like you were made for it, fuck, I love you so much, Frankie." Frank gasps at the near overwhelming combination of Ray's mouth on his hips and Bob sucking at his neck. Then Ray's sucking him down lazily, meeting his own fingers and tonguing the slit. Frank tries to thrust up, but Ray's pinning down his hips; he tries to reach down to take Ray's hair and direct him more firmly onto his cock and Bob takes both his wrists in one hand, holding them down on his chest. Frank can hardly move, but he squirms as much as he can, and nothing's blocking his mouth.

"Your fucking cocksucker lips, Toro, fuck yeah," just a stream of consciousness that breaks down into whimpers when Ray pushes three fingers into him. He's still more than stretched enough that it just feels _good_ to have something to squeeze around as Ray swallows his dick down. He struggles half-heartedly against them, enjoying the little sparks as Bob's hand grinds his wrists together and Ray's fingers dig into Frank's hips and he can feel all his extremities starting to tense and his hips twitching up erratically as he gets closer to coming.

Ray slips up to just suck at the head of his dick, thumbing at the underside, and Bob leans over and bites at his lip ring, and that's the edge he needed to start coming down Ray's throat. Ray pulls back like he almost always does, but that's fine, that's even hotter, because now his come's streaked across Ray's cheek. He comes long and hard, and Ray jerks him off through it; when he's finally spent he just collapses back against the bed, panting and cursing under his breath.

He barely registers the shift of the bed as Bob gets up and heads for the bathroom and Ray leans up to kiss him lightly. Bob comes back with washrags and Frank groans, realizing how filthy they all are, covered in lube and sweat and come.

"Don't even, Frank, we'll shower later, but we'd all fall asleep if we tried now," Bob warns, as he and Ray clean him up and then themselves. Ray's gentle with him, like he always is, and when he picks Frank up to carry him to the other bed Frank hardly has the energy to take an Ibuprofen and drink some water, much less complain.

 

*****

 

He complains later, though. They're all curled up in hoodies and sleep pants and blankets on the loveseat in front of the huge ass TV the suite has. It's making the original _Dawn of the Dead_ look better than Frank's ever seen, and if he weren't so sore he'd get his phone to send a picture to Gerard and Mikey and taunt them.

"I think you broke me," he whines. He's sitting in Ray's lap with his feet on Bob's thighs. Bob's massaging them while Ray feeds him from the fruit bowl the hotel has on the coffee table.

Bob just looks at him sardonically, saying, "You asked for it, punk." He digs a thumb into the arch of Frank's foot and Frank gasps at the sharp ache that mellows quickly into warmth.

" _Broken_ , Bob. I'm not even going to be able to fucking move at the show tomorrow," he says. He pouts at Bob and takes a grape from Ray, who's hardly paying attention to either of them.

"Good, then my kit and Gerard's head are safe once again. I fail to see the problem here," Bob says, smirking at him and letting go of his foot in favor of idly rubbing his calves.

Frank opens his mouth to snap back, but gets caught by surprise with his yawn. Ray laughs softly and rubs the back of his neck. "Go to sleep, Frankie. You can get us back later."

Frank just looks darkly at Bob. "Blindfolds, Bryar. Blindfolds and scarves are in your future."

Bob grins back at him. "Looking forward to it, Iero."

Frank sniffs and curls up into Ray's chest. Ray's hand rubs his back and he leans down to kiss Frank on the cheek. "Happy birthday, baby."

Frank hums the birthday song and drifts off to sleep to the sound of zombies being mercilessly slaughtered.

Best birthday ever, seriously.


End file.
